


Wayward Blues

by killbot2000



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Author knows nothing about Star Wars, Existential Anxiety, Fatherhood, Flashbacks, M/M, PTSD, Post Season 1, Slow Burn, Sub!Din, Western elements, bounty hunter dads, for the love of god name baby yoda, mention of familial death, plague mention, pry it out of my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23888632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killbot2000/pseuds/killbot2000
Summary: Hiding in the dregs of the outer rim, the Mandalorian finds unexpected companionship on a nameless world. They share the journey of fatherhood and the love for slaughtering Imps, which is all Din could really ask for.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Male Character, The Mandalorian/Original Male Character
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97





	1. One

In his years of hunting Din saw his fair share of dirty back alley planets and dirty back alley folk. The Razor Crest orbited a planet he wasn’t even sure had a name, its featureless atmosphere filled with coal black smoke from pollution. Its purpose was purely industrial, one of the more disposable worlds fallen to ruin after the Imperial’s defeat. More factory than home. 

He’d stopped for fuel and a couple sparse supplies and against his better judgment, landed in the middle of the city market hoping to scrape together a few more credits. The market bustled along the skinny alley, grimy city walls stretching up to the polluted black sky. Vendor stalls stood erect and dense, but they came and went with sick quickness and the market itself rippled in the change.

Between a few short inquisitorial words and the beskar armor, he was able to move from merchant to merchant with ease. They knew what he wanted and they had nothing to offer. 

Finally a vendor, a small man with sallow skin and but a handful of hair on his head, trembled slightly as he whispered to the bounty hunter that he’d been shaken down by some Imperial loyalists a couple of days ago. And he knew where they liked to camp out. 

“I don’t want no more trouble. Y-you keep the credits you find, yes?” 

Din nodded once at the man’s words, “That’ll be acceptable.” 

The man described the hideout, using timid and boney hands to emphasize his words and pointed the bounty hunter away from the market. 

“You might wanna be careful…” The merchant told him before he left, “Sent a local hunter out after ‘em but he ain’t been back. Imps mighta gottem.” 

Outside the market the city fell eerily silent. He was on the clock, he knew, as he’d put the child to sleep a few hours ago and he would be awake in a few more. 

Only a few people lurked out on the empty streets with the discarded garbage and oil puddles. Following the merchant’s directions, he came upon a building stretching as high as the others, the facade a dirty grey concrete streaked with water trails that must’ve come from something artificial because it sure as hell wasn’t from rain. The only time these walls saw water was when a tenant dumped it out a window. 

Up at about the third story, a window was cracked open and a garish orange light came from between the parted curtains. Chances were this window was part of the flat that hid the Imps. Permanent residents would keep their windows closed against the smog. Din approached the single door, looked with a padlock that demanded a code to access, and kicked it in with a boot. The aged device easily gave and the door slid open. Several sparks shot from the ruined door frame. 

Inside the building was dark and seemingly abandoned. Muffled noises from the stories above told him the old man from the market hadn’t been lying about the hideout. Din switched on his headlamp and found the stairs, following them to an equally empty second story. As he reached the third, the orange glow gently illuminated the wall from an open door. He turned the headlamp back off and crept along the wall, drawing his blaster. There were no noises from the room. 

Quickly he turned the corner, following the blaster into the room. The room was mostly vacant, only a dirty drop cloth on the bare floor and the orange glow lamp hanging from a ceiling beam. A figure sat limp against the wall underneath the lamp, head hanging forward, and if it weren’t for the indication of life in his thermal visor, Din would’ve thought the person a corpse. 

He approached, gently kicking the man’s foot to see if he’d stir. When he didn’t, Din lowered his blaster, surveying the rest of the room. Behind him was the open window, which he stood closer to and looked out of, down into the empty cobbled street. The market was alight several blocks away, the distant warm light calling out to him over the rooftops. He’d seen few other places as dismal as this. As soon as he cleared the Imps he’d move on and try to forget about the dirty streets and the merchant’s eyes that begged for relief. 

Doing a once over, Din decided the unconscious man was the missing hunter, and not an Imp. He tried to look at the man’s face under his dark hair, but only saw bloody skin that didn’t set him at ease. The empty and dark door frame to the right of the slouched man was mostly likely where they all vanished to, and they were silent. Still, there was a chance they’d finished beating the hunter and retired for the evening deeper into the building, oblivious to the second bounty hunter. He switched his visor for better visibility in the dark, then pressed on. 

The new room was a kitchen, appliances painted a cracked white, collapsing in on themselves. The floor was clear of debris, suggesting that looters had taken anything not nailed down, most likely long before the Imperial remnants arrived. He kept going, scanning the room with his blaster carefully, then moving on. In the third room, a large window overlooked the city. The view was a sea of rooftops below, and offered an eyeful of the coal-black sky, interrupted with tall and slim radio towers flashing slow red lights. It was mesmerizing, the undulating waves of buildings, and if he had to bet credits, he’d say not a soul lived down there. 

Din spotted a remnant to his left, pulling a gun as he turned to see the bounty hunter. He exclaimed, but was cut off with a shot through the skull. Still, the sound reverberated through the metal walls. Behind him, another remnant latched onto his shoulders, pulling a wire taut against his throat, and began to pull. Stars appeared in his eyes with the pressure, their white points dancing with the radio tower lights in the cityscape. 

He elbowed the person holding onto him, stepping back to slam them into the wall with all his weight. He felt the crunch of broken bone under his steel armor and the wire went slack. Pulling the wire away from his neck, Din threw it off himself, coughing, then turned and shot the remnant already laying on the floor. 

A fourth room beckoned him to the left of the huge window, promising the rest of the Imps laying in wait. He wished he’d something to flush them out, but he was relatively lightly armed on this venture. 

On the first step through the threshold, someone jumped on him from the left, managing to pull him to the ground with their weight. It was completely dark in the room, and even with the help of the visor, he felt disoriented falling to the ground to wrestle with the remnant. He flailed blindly, fist connecting with something soft as he landed, blaster skidding across the floor. The Imp rolled under him, pushing so that Din fell back over onto his back. The small cruel eyes of a desperate man looked into his visor, and the Imp drew a knife, immediately readying it to plunge into Din’s vulnerable neck. With a great arcing motion, the remnant brought the knife down, only for Din to deflect it. He’d tried to use his vambrace, but with poor timing, found his glove and hand sliced up instead, his own blood dripping onto the beskar. 

He pulled back his injured fist, curling it, then struck his attacker. Blood sprayed from the Imp’s nose, and with the momentum, Din pushed him off and scrambled to his feet. He looked quickly for his lost blaster, but another remnant was upon him. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a third standing near the far wall, aiming her rifle. The second Imp grabbed him by the shoulders and attempted to throw him into the wall. He stumbled, but the heavy armor kept the Imp’s strength at bay and he remained upright. He pushed the Imp back, then followed with a kick and finally the flamethrower from his vambrace, sending the smell of singed hair and flesh into the room. 

The Imp cried in pain, but the first was back on him. His knife danced in Din’s visor, trying to find a landing amongst their struggles against each other. He grabbed the Imp’s hand with the knife and yanked it away from his head as hard as he could. The Imp gasped in pain at the unnatural position, and the knife clattered to the floor. With his free hand, he stooped, taking the Imp in his grasp down with him, and grabbed the knife. The fingers of the remnant curled in pain then twitched when Din dispatched him. 

He rose, knife in hand, looming over the burnt figure to finish them off. Before he could, the cold and solid end of a blaster muzzle pressed itself into the base of his neck, right up under his helmet. The horrible ghost of a shiver worked its way up his spine, and suddenly he found it incredibly hard to breathe. 

“Put the knife down.” The woman told him, her blaster humming with a charge. She pushed the barrel against him harder and the knife fell from his hand. Each breath now felt like he was taking in water; uneven and filling his lungs with something he wasn’t supposed to take in. His heart was in his throat. 

A shot fired and he fell on all fours. Above him, the remnant fell dead. 

Din looked over to the threshold. Silhouette illuminated by the light from the window, was the local hunter, Din’s blaster in hand. He aimed and fired again, this time killing the charred Imp. 

Sucking in a shaky breath, Din looked down to the ground, at his gloved and bleeding hand. He felt much too off balance, the greyscale of his visor slurring the world together like a gravely mud. He switched his visor to its normal setting then closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down when waves of nausea rolled over him. 

“That all of them?” Came the hunter’s voice. 

Keeping his eyes closed, he grunted affirmatively and kept on his knees. 

“You hurt?” 

He shook his head, lifting a hand to wave the hunter away. There was no movement. 

When he finally stood, the hunter lowered the blaster, a grim look set on his bloody face. Din could barely make out a long nose and mustache only slightly longer than the five o’clock shadow that darkened his cheeks under all the blood. He looked haggard and on edge. 

“Those the Imps the merchant told you about?” 

“Yeah. Told me there’d be some credits, too.” Came the hunter’s answer. 

Din looked around at his feet, then found a bulging pouch on the woman’s belt, and pulled it off. He tossed it to the hunter. 

“For the blaster.” 

The hunter caught the repossessed pouch and spun the blaster in his other hand, offering the butt to Din. He took it and holstered it at his side. 

“We should split the credits.” 

Din shook his head, “You saved me. Keep them.”

“Fair’s fair.” The hunter told him. He fished out half the credits for himself and tossed the pouch back. “You offworld?” 

He nodded, tucking the pouch away, “Yeah.” And left the room before any more questions could come. 

Out on the street it was still quiet. His heart rate had slowed but it still felt much too urgent for a situation he’d been in hundreds of times before. What was the difference? The ghost of his previous near death, the look of his child when he saw him failing to hold on? He crossed the street and set his hands on the building, dipping his head and trying to shake himself into shape. The stillness of the city felt stifling. His helmet clanked against the concrete and he just stood there, leaning into the wall, until finally he felt settled. 

The market remained vigorous, and he felt more alive with the movement and breath of the people, even if it was overwhelming. He found the stall of the sickly man who’d given him the task. 

Almost all of his wares had been sold, and Din found the man holding an empty bag, leaning against a display table, talking with the hunter who’d killed the Imps. The blood was cleaned from his face, the only hint at his misfortune was a bruised cut along his strong brow. His dark, tired eyes were now visible in the stagnant orange light of the market. The two men seemed amicable, content with their conversation. When he stopped at the end of the tent, the merchant looked up and smiled. Only five or so teeth sat in his gums. 

“Mando! No more Imps?” 

“No. But I suppose you know that.” 

The man nodded, reaching up and patting the hunter on the shoulder. “Loran told me he saved you, he did.” 

Din looked to the hunter, Loran, who smiled minutely, unashamed. His face was rough, long and determined, the kind of man who didn’t like to accept help. He wore the battered and mismatched armor of a veteran bounty hunter set on hard times. He probably didn’t often take on more than he could chew. Hurting for credits, Din supposed. He could sympathize. 

“I think it was mutual.” 

The old merchant laughed, his spirits much lighter now that his business was safe. He nodded, stooping to pick up another empty bag and place it in a box. Loran watched Din, arms crossed, at ease in the chaotic market. He looked like he belonged. 

“You got a ship?” 

Din didn’t answer, but the hunter continued. “Since you owe me, a lift wouldn’t be too much trouble, would it?” It really wasn’t a question. 

The merchant, sweeping now, told him, “Going to miss havin’ you around. Someone’s gotta scare the urchins away.” 

“First planet you stop at. Fair’s fair.” 

He thought of the stillness of the streets and the way it wanted to drive him insane. He’d felt the same thing before IG-11 insisted on saving him. The encroaching darkness finally pulled to the forefront of his mind, feeling like his living body would never be at peace. Dead space. The sound of a failed ship: no longer buzzing with life like machines do. And then the inevitable panic as the passenger began to suffocate. He imagined death would feel like that. 

He sighed, “Fine.” 

Loran nodded and retrieved a bag from behind the vendor’s stall, then joined him under the edge of the tent. He stood several inches taller than Din. It was a wonder the five Imps had knocked the hunter unconscious. 

It was a little unnerving as they walked back to the Razor Crest, as Din didn’t know what the best course of action regarding the child was. Ideally, the hunter would have no contact and leave the ship before he got any ideas. The next planet was quite the jump, as he had to stop in this forsaken city for more fuel before he could make it. They approached the docked ship, and he lowered the ramp, holding his breath. 

The inside sat quiet, just the creaking settling metal as the ramp slid back into place. 

“Cockpit is up there. I’ll be up in a moment” He gestured up the ladder and Loran lifted an eyebrow but started to climb. When Din was sure the hunter was up, he opened the hatch to his bunk. The child stirred, but just barely. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and closed the hatch. 

The hunter sat in the third chair not modified for the child, which Din mentally kicked himself. If he was at all intelligent, the hunter could speculate what it was. Din took his place in the pilot’s chair and began to switch the ship on, pulling it from the docking bay and out into open space in a few short minutes. He pulled the lever and the ship slid into hyperdrive. 

Cautiously, he relaxed into his chair. It’d been a long couple of hours and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Current situations rendered that impossible, or at least unadvisable. Maybe if he fell asleep in the chair, the hunter would never notice and he’d stay put. It was tempting. But the pain in his body announced itself as soon as he’d found himself comfortable. Especially the cut across his fingers that’d turned his skin into ribbons. He turned in his chair to the hunter. 

“Hand me the medkit behind you.” Din pointed with his good hand. Annoyed, mostly, at someone in his way. It was small but he felt himself becoming irritated in the building tension in his head. 

Loran looked over and pulled the kit from between the wall and his chair. He tossed it to Din, who set in in his lap. He unlatched the lid and rummaged around for the bacta salve to rub into the cuts. 

“Need help?” 

“No.” 

Din pulled his glove off and set it aside. There was a good separation of the first layers of his skin and the rest of his flesh. He hoped the bacta would heal it as he opened the pouch and dressed the wound. 

“I never got your name.” 

Din silently cursed. 

“I’m Val Loran. Go by Loran.” He waited and eventually realized that Din wasn’t going to return the gesture. He lowered his hand and leaned forward on his elbows. “You want to put me in cryo until we land?” 

“You offering?” Din set the empty package on his glove, then took some gauze to wrap each finger. 

“Unless you’re better conversation than this.” He reached down and pulled a knife from his boot. Din tensed but the hunter raised it to clean under his fingernails.

The latches of the medkit snapped back into place, and he handed the case back to Loran, who eyed him but took it and replaced it. 

A clang came from beneath the cockpit and Din knew his moment of respite was over. He now had to keep the terror from the eyes of the hunter. He knew the integrity of other bounty hunters better than he knew himself. 

“Stay here.” He instructed Loran, who seemed startled by the noise. Din slid his torn glove back on and lowered himself from the cockpit. 

The hatch to his bunk was open, and the child was making his way onto the floor. Deep under his layers of protective numbness, he felt a fierce maternal instinct for his child. The feeling scared him, but what scared him more was letting anything happen to the child. He scooped him up and held him close for a moment. 

The child grabbed at his cold armor in his own form of affection. Din wanted to stay and indulge the kid, but he needed to feed him then tuck him back into safety. 

“C’mon.” He whispered, and set the kid down. Saved from previous meals, Din offered the child a piece of fruit and leftover ration. He just looked up, eyes mischievous, and Din knew that he was in for trouble. 

“Eat your food.” He said quietly, and pointed. The child gurgled and swatted at Din’s vambrace. 

A tremor shook the ship and the emergency alarm went off. A tiny voice at Din’s core told him to ignore it, sit here with the child and let the hunter drive them into oblivion. It was easy to squash, though it would be back, and Din got to his feet. 

“Stay here.” He climbed the ladder to the cockpit and found Loran in the pilot’s seat, eyes set in concentration out into space. 

“Something hit us out of hyperdrive. Think it’s a ship.” 

“Yeah.” He grunted, motioning for Loran to move, “It probably is.” 

The bounty hunters were becoming more infrequent, but they still shook him- each coming to kill him then take his kid if they could get away with it. Most of them would settle for killing the kid too. The hunter in the ship didn’t attempt to contact the Crest, a small mercy, but it meant they weren’t interested in taking anyone in warm. 

Din fell into the pilot’s seat and began to maneuver the ship between the enemy’s blasts. The ship followed them tightly and after a few more narrow dodges, Din began to panic. A shot landed squarely on the ship, doing some major damage to the port engine that Din really didn’t want to look out the window to see. 

“We’ve been hit.” Loran informed him, hand still braced on the pilot’s seat, the other grabbing onto the roof. 

Din’s grip tightened on the thrusters, the pain in his hand flaring up again. “I know.” He replied through clenched teeth for nothing but to shut the hunter up. The console screamed at him, inconsolable, and he felt apathy over the uneven rows of buttons and switches, each blinking at him for attention. Instead, he pulled the thruster back abruptly, guiding the ship in a dramatic turn. The enemy ship, predictably, flew past the Crest, unable to predict its erratic path. Din took his shaking hands and aimed at the opening, blowing the ship to bits. 

From above him, Loran laughed incredulously. “I can’t believe you did that.” 

Din waved his hand, pulling himself out of the chair. It wasn’t going to work again. He’d been lucky enough. He dropped down the ladder into the atrium of the ship and scanned the area for the child. He was tucked against the wall, and upon seeing Din, toddled over, his arms raised, and was lifted into the air. 

Din held the child close, and was thankful for the chestplate keeping his wildly beating heart from the child’s touch. A sliding sound came from the ladder and it was too late; he heard Loran before he saw him.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all already written so I’m jigsawing this shit into chapters. The lengths are all over the damn place sorry about that. Thanks for reading.

“Hey you need to land for repairs- oh.” He looked directly at the child and frowned. 

It was a tense moment but Din saw no sign of recognition in his dark eyes. Loran made some kind of half-aborted motion and muttered, without moving his stare from the child, “Can’t pilot for shit.” 

“I’ll land us.” Din told him, his grip firm on the child even as he wriggled to see the stranger. The emergency alarms were still blaring despite their awkward stillness. 

Loran moved away from the ladder, letting Din up and followed, the rings on his hands clinking loudly against the metal. The child sat in his lap, inspecting the bandages around Din’s fingers with curious noises, oblivious to his father’s wrestle with a half-functional ship. The port side of the ship groaned with the slack from the engine. 

“We can make it down to that planet but I can’t guarantee we’ll make it back up again.” He spoke partially to the child, partially to the hunter. Neither replied. 

Entering the atmosphere was dangerous with a damaged ship, but he managed, even if only barely. The Razor Crest wasn’t getting back up again after he set it down for good. The ship burnt through the atmosphere and screamed with all its metal bones but it didn’t give. 

Din scanned the immediate stretch of land around them as he landed: mostly desert, but with a patchy green forest. The edge of the forest was only a couple yards from their landing site, and further in, in a clearing, Din thought he’d seen buildings. 

He didn’t trust the hunter enough to leave the child with him, and he didn’t see the point in leaving him alone in the Razor Crest, so Din took supplies for himself and the kid for a day’s journey, and showed the rest to Loran. 

“We can make it to that town by the time the suns are down.” Din told him as he picked through the rations for himself. “And hope that they’re friendly.” 

Loran stood and pushed the box of supplies back under Din’s sole bunk with a foot. “You think they’ll be friendly?” 

“Most likely natives so it’s up in the air. The Imps haven’t been good examples for offworlders.” 

“And we are?” 

Loran couldn’t see the glare from the Mandalorian under his helmet, but it would’ve sent the big man running. He took Din’s silence as an acknowledgement and continued. 

“People in mud houses are gonna have parts to fix your ship.” 

“Unless you have a better idea.” The child looked up at him in concern, alerted by the harshness of his voice. They exited into the afternoon light of the desert. He commanded the Crest’s ramp to retract with his vambrace, and began to head into the woods. The child followed closely, short legs sure to land him behind. Loran sighed, resigned, and followed. 

Sounds of life ushered them through the forest. Small native songbirds sang overhead, and the child’s ears swiveled like radar dishes to follow the sounds. Din eventually fell in behind the two, keeping close watch over the child, and a moderate watch over Loran. Some animal called far off in the distance. 

The hunter turned, looking to the side to speak to Din. “So...is that yours?” 

“Yes. He’s… not a pet.” 

Loran shrugged, “Sometimes the pets are better behaved than the kids. Honest mistake.” 

Din said nothing, only kept walking. He’d never considered the child’s behavior outside of his demands, but he supposed, in the grand scheme of things, that his behavior was… good. 

“How- how old is he?” Loran continued, swinging his long arms, snapping his long fingers. The hunter was bored. The serenity of nature seemed to be inadequate compared to the constant happenings in the city Din picked him up from. It made him uneasy. Idle hands and all that. 

“About fifty.”

“Ah-“ He fell silent for a heartbeat, “-Oh.” He looked to Din again, “Years?” 

Din didn’t respond. Up ahead, the child apprehended a local rodent in his clawed green grasp and crammed the entire thing in his mouth. Its long tail spasmed and disappeared down the child’s gullet. Loran scoffed. 

Up ahead, the calls Din heard earlier sounded again, only this time they were close. Through the slender trees he saw movement. Whatever it was was the same color as the sandy tree bark and moved slowly, slinking along in the dappled shadows. He turned on the thermal imaging of his visor and unstrapped the disintegration rife from his back. 

It called again, this time more of a yowl. Human-sounding and guttural. From behind Din, something else growled. He turned to look, then it was on him, hairy claws clashing against beskar, a great mouth full of sharp teeth. Din used the length of the rifle to block its snapping mouth from his throat and its weight knocked him to his back. He struggled against it, trying to get his arm free to use his flamethrower. It flared up, immediately catching the creature’s fur, sending it running into the ground to extinguish it. Din scrambled up and aimed his rifle. 

The thing, catlike and tall as two men, shook its neck, mane flapping this way and that. Its green eyes stared at the Mandalorian with fiery hate and pain. Din pulled the trigger and the creature was no more, its life extinguished in a plume of smoke and ash. 

Quickly, he turned back to search for the second creature. It towered above Loran on the other side of the clearing, its jowls dripping with saliva. At Loran’s heels was the child, holding onto the slick leather of his boot. Loran shot at the creature with his blaster, aiming for the eyes and mouth. The blasts seemed to make no difference to it, and it pounced onto the hunter before Din could take aim. 

Loran pushed the child away as he wrestled with the creature, his hands finding the jugular underneath the open mouth. Din couldn’t catch how fast he’d gotten the knife from his boot, but dark green blood spurted from the creature's neck with a swift slice of Loran’s blade. 

The creature collapsed, its massive head falling to rest on Loran’s chest. Din cautiously approached, watching the twitching thing until he was sure it was dead. He helped lift the head so Loran could scoot out from underneath. Blood stained his dirty white undershirt and copper skin, and Din could only hope it wasn’t poisonous. 

“Do you know what those are?” Loran asked between heavy pants. He rested his hands on his knees with a strained look. 

Din waited for the panic of battle to grip him again, as it had gripped him with the Imps, but it never came. Loran looked at him expectantly. 

He shook his head, “No.” 

A small tug at his boot and he looked down to see the child, a smile on his face. Never one to cower from a fight, Din thought. He readjusted the strap to the rifle on his back, then grabbed the child into his arms. He was once again drawn to the bandages on Din’s fingers. The wound had since stopped bothering him, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to remove the gauze. 

“Let’s keep moving. Not too far to the village now, and the suns are going down.” 

Loran nodded, wiping the knife on his dark pants and replacing it in his boot. They were much more alert as they continued through the woods, but it seemed the danger had passed. The songbirds resumed their tune, and no more far off screams of cats bounced through the trees.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I am back to publishing this. Enjoy

Dusk came and they stood at the edge of the woods, the child still in Din’s arms. He’d fallen asleep after the earlier excitement and near day’s walk. Din was really feeling the fatigue of the last couple days now; and if he didn’t find some time to eat and sleep, he couldn’t hold out much longer. He still didn’t trust Loran completely, but he hoped that the village would have some offworld contact that would satisfy the man into jumping ship. 

Looking now, the promise of the village holding the answer to his problems seemed less likely. In fact, it seemed impossible. Not a single light came from the huts, and not a single sign of life moved about in the dirt roads. Dusk would be the optimal time to get work done, as the heat from the day had died down and there was still enough natural light to see without aid. 

Loran looked to him, “Think they’ll answer if we knock?” 

The houses were low, mostly dug out of the ground and built up with crude clay blocks that reached Din's shoulders. Dead grass grew on a few roofs. 

The first house they checked was empty. The dirt floor seemed recently disturbed but it could’ve been from an animal seeking refuge from the suns. Din stepped away and watched as Loran moved on to the next house… then the next… and the next. 

“What the fuck.” Din strained to hear as the hunter kicked down another door. It splintered and a muffled thump came when it fell. He turned to see Din standing in the middle of the dirt path and approached, dark eyes alight with frustration. 

“You said there’d be people here.” He accused, finger pointing. 

“We got unlucky.” 

“Unlucky? Fuck...we’re gonna die here.” 

Din adjusted the child in his arms, “Don’t be dramatic. We’ll figure something out in the morning.” 

“And hope that whatever got the townspeople won’t come out and get us.” 

He said nothing and ducked into the first house, out of the twilight. The wooden door creaked as he swung it shut. Looking around inside at the sparse furniture, he found a crudely assembled chair and lifted it, setting the backrest under the wooden door handle and pushing it flush against the door. When he pulled, the door wouldn’t budge. Content, he sunk against the wall, exhausted, feeling drained of every single ounce of strength he had. 

He turned the headlamp to his helmet on then removed it, setting it on the chair so that the light illuminated the dirt house. Din wiped his face with the ragged ends of his bandaged fingers and leaned his head back against the cool wall. 

The rations he’d brought were anything but satisfying, but he scarfed them down while he watched the sleeping child. There was enough energy in him to reach out and stroke his sleeping form, then Din settled onto the ground, bare face resting on his tucked forearm, and was asleep. 

What woke him wasn’t the child, though his eyes were open and he was tearing into a ration packet that Din had left out. Bright sunlight came from the cracks in the wooden door, illuminating the kid with slats of vertical orange light. He cooed and another round of banging came from the door. 

“Hey! You alive in there?” It was Loran’s voice, and it sounded concerned. Perhaps Din was paranoid with his placement of the chair; it hadn’t been to keep the animals out. 

He pulled himself off the ground, “Yeah. Just a second.” The headlight on his helmet had burnt out, he cursed for forgetting to turn it off, but he placed the helmet back on his head with a hiss. 

Out in the sunlight, the two stars at their zenith (how long had he slept?) beat down on their backs relentlessly. Loran furrowed his heavy brow at his emergence. 

“I found what happened to these people.” The hunter told him. 

He guided Din to one of the last houses, probably the biggest in the village. He didn’t need to look inside to know the inhabitants were dried corpses. 

“I think it was, uh, sickness.” Loran told him. Sympathy held heavy in his eyes. He sniffled awkwardly and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He only wore one glove. 

Din was struck with seeing him, for maybe the first time, out in the direct light. Maybe because his head wasn’t muddled with exhaustion or hunger, but Din saw him differently. Yes, he had the characteristic crudeness that most bounty hunters possessed, but he could see past that now. 

Din cleared his throat. “Think you’re right. How long ago?” He didn’t look into the house to see the mound of bodies. Loran noticed and pulled a face. 

“Hard to say… a while. Don’t think they’re dangerous anymore. There’s no smell.” 

A small sound drew both of the men’s attention and the child waddled between them, eyes set on Loran. He held his short arms out in front of him, and the hunter stooped to pick him up. Din, against his better judgment, let him. 

A crooked smile cracked between his lips and he spoke low and slowly to the child. It surprised Din when he lifted a finger to stroke the kid’s forehead. 

“Do you… like kids?” 

He answered with the same grin on his face, not breaking his gaze from the child, “Oldest of six so I had to raise more than a few myself. You learn to appreciate them.” The child bounced up and down gently in his hands. 

Then, a more serious note in his face, “Sorry about the frustration yesterday. I didn’t expect my first off-world endeavor to go like this.” 

Loran set the child down and they watched as he walked down the dirt path, stopping at a collection of rocks to inspect. 

“Your first?” 

“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth twitched in a frown. “Thanks for taking me. I- I don’t even know you. You don’t know me.” 

“No.” Din couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“We’ve got a long way back. Now you have to tell me about you. What’s with the-“ he gestured vaguely to his own face. 

“I’m a Mandalorian. We don’t remove our helmets for any living thing. He-“ He pointed to the child, “-is a foundling. I will raise him until he’s old enough to join our creed. Or turns away from it.” 

“You said he’s fifty. How old is old enough?” 

“I-“ His voice caught in his throat unexpectedly, “-I haven’t thought about it.” 

A grim look crossed Loran’s face. They met the child in the center of the road. He picked the child back up and they headed for the edge of the town, in the direction of the Crest. Loran didn’t speak for several minutes and Din didn’t feel the need to break the silence. He occupied himself with planning what they’d do once back to the ship, and how to eventually leave this planet. He looked at Loran holding his child and felt a little guilty for wanting to leave him behind. Nothing that would keep him up at night, though. 

Eventually Loran set the child down in the wooded path so that he might walk for himself a little ways. The songbirds from the day before continued their callings, and Din noticed them now; sand colored with small wingspans and two thin tails. They chased each other happily amongst the tree branches. 

“Do y’think there are any other people here?” 

Din watched the birds, his hands on his rifle, not wanting another surprise attack. 

“I’m not sure. Once we get back to the ship I’m going to try the radio. It’s important we don’t panic.” 

“This might be a new planet but it’ll get more than this to make me panic.” Loran laughed to himself. 

“I know.” 

He was right. Din hadn’t met many people who stayed so unshaken by a series of violent events, especially when he himself was getting more and more rattled after each one. But that seemed like a problem independent of Loran. 

They made it back to the Razor Crest, still sitting at the edge of the woods, looking no different nor less battered than when they left it. 

For the rest of the day, Din quarreled with the Crest’s radio, the equipment refusing to pick up anything but the low static drone of the universe. The sound of entropy itself hissing and spitting and he left it after the suns set below the desert horizon, defeated. 

He’d taken his meal by himself in the cockpit, then descended the ladder to the belly of the ship. The ramp was down and a few feet from the entrance, Loran had a bonfire illuminating the dark. Din dug up another ration pack and the last bit of fresh fruit he had and made his way to the fire. 

He sat cross-legged across the fire from Loran, in the sand next to the child, and began to feed him. 

“No luck?” Loran asked, but he knew the answer. 

Din shook his head and offered a slice of fruit to the child. He grabbed it with clawed fingers and shoved it in his mouth. The sight brought an emotion up into Din’s throat that he’d stopped trying to identify long ago. 

There soon would be nothing he could do but wait until their patience paid off, and in doing so he felt that he’d failed his child, his ward, that who he was supposed to protect no matter the consequence. He would be protected here in this empty planet, but he wouldn’t be much else. 

Loran’s scratchy voice interrupted him, “You alright? You’re quiet. Quieter than usual.” 

It made Din uncomfortable with how direct his new companion tended to be. 

“Yeah. Just… thinking.” 

Loran made a humming noise of annoyance, “Are you gonna share or are you gonna be cryptic?” 

Nothing felt more drawn out to him than trying to wrestle his thoughts into words, then force those words through his mouth so that someone might understand and listen. 

“About raising him, mostly.” 

Amusement at first made its way into Loran’s smile, then it mixed with that same watery sympathy that he’d seen his morning. He stood and came to sit closer to Din. The rocky desert floor crunched under his boots, and he sent a small cloud of dust into the air when he sat. 

“I’ve been five different parents to five different kids. Not one turned out how I expected, but they turned out how they were supposed to.” Loran looked to him and offered that crooked smile. He had many fine white scars on his face that Din could see now up close in the orange glow of the fire. 

“You act out of love. And out of duty. And then there’s nothing more you can do.” 

His eyes flicked down at the child, now curling up in Din’s lap, big eyes heavy with sleep. Loran yawned. 

Din returned to the ship and set the child at the foot in his bunk. Then he dragged out an old sleeping roll for Loran, who insisted on sleeping outside. He told Din that the stars ‘didn’t look like that back home,’ and made an arc with his whole arm towards the sky. 

He didn’t raise the ramp to the Crest back up, which made him feel a little exposed, but he didn’t want Loran trapped outside if something were to happen. Din closed the hatch to his bunk with the child sleeping by his side. It was cramped but he’d done worse many times before. He took off his helmet and set it above his head and took a long breath of the stale air. Sleep came all at once. 

The child was curled up by his ear when he woke, his small body on Din’s hair, pinning him to the pillow. He didn’t want to disturb him but he also really, really wanted to leave the confined space. 

After he’d worked up the courage to move his kid, he took a quick detour to the refresher, taking his helmet off once more to look in the mirror and decide if he needed a shave. Then he ate breakfast, and emerged into the sun-bleached wastes that were their immediate surroundings. 

The bonfire was completely out, no longer even smouldering, and Loran had taken refuge under the shade of the Crest. 

He looked up to Din from the ground, hand shielding his eyes from the sun. “Mornin.’” 

Din inclined his head in greeting but said nothing. He scanned the horizon once more but came up with nothing but more desert. From below him Loran let out a discontented sigh. 

“This blows.” 

The comment made Din scoff in amusement then agreement and he pulled his rifle’s scope from his pocket to look farther down the land. There was nothing. Maybe something laid on the other side of the woods but he couldn’t say for sure, and it would be a wasteful risk to cross them. 

He spent the rest of the morning fidgeting with the radio, and eventually something worked again so that they could at least broadcast a distress signal. 

“Better than nothing.” Din told him over lunch, hands occupied with the child’s incessant pushing away of his food. Loran just watched in amusement, picking at his own meal, and it irked Din because he’d obviously been there at one point or another and offered no help. Din was of course too proud to ask, so the hunter just watched him squirm. 

“So thay radio signal will take anywhere from hours to a week, right?” 

“Sure hope it isn’t a week.” Din mumbled. The child whined. 

“You given him water?” 

“Of course I’ve-“ He hadn’t. Begrudgingly he set a cup onto their makeshift table and filled it with water from the stores. It was running low, but Din didn’t think there would be a problem if someone came within the week. If no one did then he’d begin drastic planning. 

The rest of the day was monotonous, much of the routine checking of the radio, attempts to feed the child, double checking their stores as the rationed food dwindled at an alarming rate. 

Loran collected dry kindling from the woods for their fires, and he’d said there were some smaller cat-creatures that watched him that might be a source of meat. The muddy greenish color of their blood made Din’s stomach twinge, but he wasn’t adverse to it, should the need arise. 

When the moon rose, the child had been put to sleep safely inside the Razor Crest, and Din enjoyed a few moments of relative silence next to the fire. The dry wood crackled and spit at the empty night air. He leaned back on a crate, feeling, despite their circumstances, at ease. 

“Loran?” 

The hunter looked up in surprise, propped back on his elbows in the dirt. He stilled the knife he’d been fiddling with and clutched it in his hand, close to his chest. 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you-“ Din sighed, twisted his mouth in thought, did many other pensive movements that were completely imperceptible to his companion. “Were you ever taken away from your family?” 

His face stayed neutral, though his brow lifted in thought. “Sure. Bounty hunting isn’t a safe job—you know that. Better than most, I assume.” 

“Were there jobs you didn’t think you’d come back from?” 

“There were.” He said with clipped words. A sigh escaped his nose, “I risk life and limb for them and they know that.” Loran looked back down at his hands and resumed fidgeting with the knife. 

“How do you deal with that?” 

“I don’t.” And just like that the conversation was closed. Din sensed he’d stepped too far in his own vulnerability. A piece of wood collapsed in the fire and the flames died down, scattering sparks and coal to die in the night. Din stole a look to the sky and saw that the stars really didn’t look like that back home. He ignored the clenching feeling in his stomach when an image of home didn’t come.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine fun times. I think I actually wrote this before quarantine. My predictions.

“Do you play cards?” 

Din didn’t look up from his wiring, “No.” 

“Have a throwing dart board?” 

“No.” 

“Mud wrestling?” 

A scoff followed by, “No.” 

“What the fuck do you do for fun?” 

Loran covered the child’s wide ears with his palms, who sat contentedly on his knee, playing with a spare pair of clippers. He smiled guiltily when Din shot him a look, helmet moving just enough for it to be perceptible. 

This was the third day stranded on a desert planet so far away from everything and Din didn’t even know it’s name. He didn’t even remember the name of Loran’s planet. The only reason he’d ventured so far out of what was known was to shake the bounty hunters who obviously weren’t keen on giving up their chase. The Imperials paid most men out of their morals. They’d done it to him; they could do it to anyone. 

He was sweating. Tired of the heat and never being able to sit, even for a moment, without his helmet, and feel the breeze blow cool breath upon his face. Not that that was something he thought about often. 

“You have to have hobbies outside of bounty hunting.” Loran told him pointedly. He let the child off of his leg and down onto the floor of the Crest. He waddled over to his father and offered Din the discarded pliers, which he accepted with some hesitation. 

“My recent occupation has been the child.” 

His lips curled in thought under his stubbled dark mustache, hand folded under his chin in thought. “Has he got a name?” 

Din set his own tool down, sighing softly. He was annoyed but found it in himself to at least dignify the fact that, no, his son didn’t have a name. “I’m searching for his species. I’d like to name him something from his own culture.” 

“Not yours?” 

“No… He’s… unique. There aren’t many like him.” He looked thoughtfully to the child, then down to the repairs that he’d been mending. He added on quietly, not even sure if Loran heard him, “Maybe he already has one.” 

The next question nearly caught him off-guard, but he should’ve expected it. 

“Maybe he doesn’t need one. Hell, do you even have a name?” 

It was then that the sound of a low-flying ship sounded overhead. Loran, a look of cool alarm on his face, jumped from his crate and went to the mouth of the ship, holding onto a low piece of the ship’s ceiling to steady himself as he looked out on the rapidly receding ship. Din joined him. 

“Could you get a good look at it?” 

“No— there was a glare.” Loran replied, still squinting against the sun. “It landed. Couldn't have gone further than that village. Should we go after it?” 

Din was already back in the cargo hold scraping up what was left of their supplies. “We have to. It’s our only chance.” Loran helped him pack. 

“We can’t leave the kid back here, can we?” 

“No. And I need you. It’s going to have to be all of us.” He watched the child suck on the corner of one of the last ration packets and felt a sense of unease. He wanted to keep the child as far away from harm’s way as possible but nothing ever happened the way he wanted it to. 

By nightfall they were upon the deserted village again, its streets still as silent as they had left it. The chrome ship sat at the far edge, floodlights illuminating the tree line behind the buildings. There was distant shouting over the oppressive quiet of the night. 

Din handed off the child and looked down the scope of his rifle. 

“What do you see?” 

“Not much.” He answered, sweeping the surrounding areas. There was no movement, save the shadows in the floodlights. The actual figures were obscured by the metallic outline of the ship itself. 

“Going to have to get closer.” Din looked over to Loran, who held the kid fast in his arms. “Will you cover me?” 

“Thought you’d never ask.” 

Din offered him the disintegration rifle, then his spare ammunition. The hunter accepted. He knelt and set the child by his knee, aiming the rifle as Din began to creep into the maze of low buildings. 

About a hundred yards into the town he could make out distinct voices. They spoke of the sand and of the damning heat. His heart began to pound but he couldn’t quite explain why. 

He’d been right to caution these new arrivals, though. When he reached the last row of houses to squat behind for cover his blood ran cold. The brisk and modulated voices of imperial troopers resonated from the ship, and he saw several of their white forms moving about in the light. 

“Don’t touch anything.” One guard told the other. He scanned the perimeter with the tip of his blaster. 

The other reply was farther off, Din had to strain to hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. “The doctor told us it was safe.” 

“You trust that guy? You never know with sickness.” 

The trooper’s implication made Din’s skin crawl. An unmarked ship full of Imps could never be good news, and who knew what these ones unleashed onto the unassuming village. Some kind of man-made pestilence that they didn’t have a chance against. 

Back at the Crest, he’d assessed the damage done by the chase with the bounty hunter. He’d repaired most of the busted wires and did away with unnecessary paneling that was more ash than metal. The one thing he couldn’t repair was deep in the port engine; a piece of the compressor that had leaked air out into space instead of keeping it in the engine for the ignition. He needed to find a replacement and the disguised Imperial ship looked just old enough to have something similar. The only problem was that removing the part wouldn’t be quiet and there was an unknown amount of troopers still inside the ship. 

His hands itched with anxiety and the tension building up in his body. The troopers circled the entrance in intervals like the gears of a machine. When one’s back was turned, the other was looking over the sea of desert buildings. 

Din took an opening to reach the closest trooper and forced his arm over the white helmet, windpipe in the crook of his elbow, free hand pulling the other up, and dragged the fading trooper behind the ship. He hefted a stone that fit snugly in his palm, leaned past the wall of the ship at the second trooper, and lobbed it. It hit the back of the trooper’s helmet with an audible crack followed by a gasp of pain and surprise. The trooper turned and made his way to the other side of the illuminated area, scanning the darkness. He took another step in the darkness and Mandalorian was upon him, choking the air out of him like he’d done with the first. 

Turning back into the dark, he looked to the tree line across the town. The reflection from the scope of his rifle flashed back at him and Din dipped his head, hoping Loran would take it as a cue to be alert. He approached the external engine of the ship and placed his hands on the panel, running his fingers along the seams. He tested just pulling it off, but there were fasteners in place. A solid wooden plank from one of the splintered village doors served him as leverage to pry off the paneling. It proved futile as his first attempt. 

The incident on Nevarro, the shoot-out in the cantina that still plagued his nightly sleep, proved to have but one benefit. He’d found a similar cutter to the one in IG-11 and installed it in his right vambrace. It wasn’t as effective, as he wasn’t made of metal and the heat would eventually burn his arm off, so it would have to do. And it did just fine as he began to cut into the steel. 

It showered the night in sparks, they bounced off his armor and put tiny holes in the cloth he wore. 

No sound came from the ship, but it didn’t reassure him. He tried to move faster. 

The sheet fell away to reveal the inner workings of the machinery. He reached up to turn on his headlamp with which to see better but the switch flicked uselessly on and off. 

“Damn.” He growled under his breath, remembering his carelessness just a few days ago. Nothing helped to aid his sight but the light of the moon, mercifully at quarter tonight, reflecting off the aged steel. It was old, yes, but in relatively good shape. Din began to fumble with the pieces, looking for anything similar to the broken part back at his own ship. The cutter came in again, shaving away the first layer of piping and wires and falling into the sand. There was a commotion in the Imperial ship. 

Finally the huge cylinder of the compressor announced itself against the wiring, lines going vertical along its length that Din cut from their place and rolled them in his hand, tubing filled with the intact wires his ship needed. For good measure he sliced a piece of the compressor cover off so that he may patch the hole in the Crest. When it came free, though, the leftover troopers spilled from the ship. They hadn’t seen him tucked behind the wing of their ship and he hoped to the stars that Loran wouldn’t give him away. 

Turned out the hunter didn’t need to, because one spotted Din creeping away. He dove behind a low house, the blaster fire from the troopers spraying sand everywhere and demolishing the house. He looked over to fire back and one trooper partially disintegrated before him, a scream cut off by a shower of ash and burnt plasteel. Din picked himself up to run as they swarmed, moving up quickly. 

In the haze of dust and smoke, a figure came closer. Not adorned in stark white armor, Din squinted as the smaller clothed silhouette approached. It leaned to pick something off the ground, the heavy discarded board from Din’s vandalism, and he finally got a good look at who the person was. It wasn’t particularly impressive, the grey and white uniform of the imperial scientists, and Din knew this. They weren’t always the violent types, but it seemed this one was. The murderous look in his eyes made Din feel woozy and panic worked its way up from its comfortable place in his stomach right up under his tongue. He turned and ran. 

It was possible other stormtroopers fell to Loran’s shot when he ran, but in truth he had one instinct driving him. He was surprised when he remembered, after the battle was over, that it wasn’t ‘survive’. Now, blindly tripping to the sand and roads, it was ‘protect.’ The treeline neared and he turned to shoot over his shoulder. The shot landed on a trooper’s knee, sending him spiraling into the dirt. 

Closer was the scientist, the man who had most likely poisoned the townsfolk for a despicable scientific endeavor, his grey eyes visible to Din in the moonlight. He raised the board over his head with both veiny hands. 

Din turned and saw Loran and the child coming towards him, Loran’s face alight with the manic concentration of battle, in a moment of vulnerability reloading the rifle. Din held out a hand to keep the two from coming closer, then it was that the blow landed. 

It was on the back of the head, sending his skull into reverb against his helmet, and the strength was enough to send him to the ground. His breath left him and he gasped in vain, rolling himself over in an attempt to fend off the attackers. The scientist stood over him and raised the board again. Din’s hand uselessly fumbled against his dropped blaster, and he saw a future where his child would fall into harm again because of his failure. But he couldn’t pick up his blaster with a hand twitching with paralyzing fear. 

The board dropped on him harmlessly when the scientist went up in a cloud of smoke and charred cloth. Din watched in forming shock, his vision not wanting to clear itself quite yet, as Loran stepped over him and with practiced ease, shot one by one of the remaining troopers dead. The last two though, landed a lucky hit. It hit Loran on the good shoulder, and he dropped the rifle with the force of the shot. They moved in, and as they raised their blasters to finish him off, something happened that Din knew wasn’t his delirious and panicking brain. 

The troopers rose, hands dropping their blasters in favor of grabbing at their necks as if an invisible noose had strung them up for unforgivable crimes. They writhed in the air like men possessed. Din closed his eyes tightly before they went slack. 

His breath was caught in his throat and his head began to throb with a vengeance. Loran was kneeling next to him now, good hand feeling around his neck in search of a pulse. Din could lift a hand to grab his wrist. 

“I’m fine.” He hiccuped, his words so uneven it hurt to get them out. 

Loran shook his head. “The fuck you ain’t.” He said softly, “This has happened before, ain’t it?” 

He gave no reply, and Loran pulled his wrist from Din’s grasp. Instead of drawing away, though, he grabbed Din’s shaking hand so firmly and spoke so softly that Din could only catch snippets of what he said.

“You’re gonna be fine… what your kid did, really somethin’...” 

Finally, he felt the world righten itself in his head. The shudders in his body subsided and he felt restful. He looked over to see Loran’s eyes, half-glazed with pain, watching him whisper the rest of his words. 

“Loran?” 

His eyes cleared, and he gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, bit of a habit. Had to calm down a coupla kids way back when.” He dropped Din’s hand and patted his chestplate before leaning to stand. Din pulled himself to a sitting position and lifted a hand when Loran stumbled. 

“Let’s get into the trees.” He muttered, hand on the wound on his shoulder, a small amount of blood trickled through his fingers. 

Din dragged himself to his feet and came closer to inspect Loran’s wound. “Is it bad?” 

Loran peeled away his bloody hand, “Just a bit.” He winced. 

They moved into the trees, farther away from the shouldering ruins of the battlefield. Din picked up the child, holding both him and the salvaged ship parts in his arms as if they were the most coveted items in the universe. 

The child was falling into his slumber, but Din spoke to him anyway, feeling the ridges of his face with a delicate finger. “Brave thing you did back there… Get some sleep.” 

They crept through what little underbrush there was until the village was out of sight far behind them. Then Loran stopped and settled down to sit against one of the abnormally straight trees. 

“Gonna rest here.” 

Din knelt by his knees, placing the child into Loran’s lap, and fished a bacta patch from his kit. 

“Can you lift your arm?” 

He made some aborted motion with it and curled his lip in frustration, “No.” 

“Okay. I’m going to take off your armor and cut the shirt away so I can apply the patch.” Din told him, carefully reading his foggy eyes. A small nod shook Loran’s too-long hair. 

He unlaced the front of the steel pauldrons and leather chest piece then lifted it over the hunter’s head. The light colored undershirt he wore was covered in the desert ‘s dust and more alarmingly, blood around the charred hole from the blaster. Din took the knife from his boot, careful as to not startle Loran with it, and cut his shirt from the neckline to the shoulder.

Din got a clear look at the wound and thankfully found it relatively clean. A perfect ‘o’ of scorched flesh and blackened blood. The packaging of the bacta tore away easily and he carefully pressed it to Loran’s skin. Something in the back of his mind naggingly tempted him to look at the rest of the hunter’s chest, broad muscle and a patterned with dark hair. He ignored it and pulled what was left of his shirt back on Loran’s frame. 

“You didn’t have to be so gentle.” Loran told him drowsily, a smile in his words that prodded into his mind. Din settled next to him in the dirt and took this child into his own lap. 

He inclined his head, mostly watching the child. “And you didn’t have to stay with me.” 

“I’m giving you a hard time. And yeah, I did. Couldn’t let a good man suffer.” 

“Don’t think I’m any kind of man. Good, bad, doesn’t matter.” He turned his visor to look at Loran, “Thank you.” 

Loran just smiled, lips pulled thin and exhausted. Din looked back down to the child. 

“My name is Din Djarin.” He spoke before he could stop himself. “Names aren’t that important to me, but… I know they’re important to you.” 

“Nice to officially meet you, Din Djarin.” His teeth flashed in the moonlight, this real smile awakening on his face. His eyes ringed with crows feet were soft. “Thank you for trusting me with it.” 

Din said nothing in return, only set the back of his head against the tree. After a few moments he told Loran to sleep, as he’d take the first watch. The hunter was out cold within minutes, his injured shoulder pressing into Din’s arm with each inhale. It was a sensation he didn’t experience often, but he liked the assuredness of another person next to him in the dark. The lonesomeness of his career seemed to be giving him a run for his money lately. 

He must’ve been too comfortable because he caught himself nodding off some hours later. The temperature had dropped and the child shivered in his arms. He pulled the cape around his neck around to his front and used the fabric to bundle the kid tighter. He held him closer and tried to blink himself awake. 

Loran shifted next to him in his sleep and Din felt regret at the prospect of waking him. He could feel the hunter shivering in his sleep. Stiffly, Din rose and tucked the child under his arm. He kicked at the ground, along the low and dry bushes and scavenged a modest bundle of kindling. He scuffed a shallow pit in the sand with his boot, then placed the wood at the bottom. With a flare from his vambrace the wood was in flames. Din piled a few more sticks into the pit and sat back on his haunches, admiring the crackle of the dry wood and the dance of the flames. 

He settled back next to Loran and found the temple of his helmet could rest easily on the man’s shoulder. The flames eagerly engulfed the rest of the sticks and spread to a sizable blaze. The child eased into a more comfortable slumber and even Loran seemed to quit shaking. He felt the warmth through his boots but not much else. Loran leaned closer into him and gently snored. Eventually the horizon softened with the greys of coming dawn and he fell into a troubled sleep. 

Consciousness eased itself into his mind, filled his eyes with pale light and the color of sand. His lap was empty of the child and he scrambled to his feet in a panic, looking into the surrounding trees for him. 

“Good morning.” 

Loran stood facing the thinnest area in the forest, desert visible beyond the trees, and beyond that, empty pink sky. The child sat happily in his arms and Din relaxed. 

“You didn’t wake me up for a watch.” 

“No.” He answered, “You needed to rest.” 

“So do you.” 

In his arms, the child squirmed. Loran set him on the ground and he walked to Din, holding his arms up, and as always, was indulged in his request. 

“Better get moving.” 

Loran’s dark eyes asked him an unspoken question but he was historically good at ignoring those. He didn’t want to think about all the exceptions he’d already made for the hunter. On his deathbed he would gladly take his name to the grave but he saw some kind of warped version of himself in Loran where family and fatherhood came as easily as bounty hunting. And there was a piece of his mind that whispered darkly of unproductive desires. 

They came upon the Razor Crest when the suns were at their peaks and the sky was a crisp blue. Din was beginning to see spots in his vision from hunger and general exhaustion. He lowered the ramp and entered and Loran had the good sense to not follow him. The refresher was cool and slightly damp and he drank from the faucet before promptly sinking to the ground and passing out. 

When he came to it was still dark in the small space. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed during his impromptu nap so he lugged his helmet back on and forced himself back outside. 

He couldn’t tell the time of day for the grey haze that hung in the air and the river of storm clouds overhead. Wind whipped at his cape. 

“Good you’re awake!” To his left, Loran yelled up at him, words carried away. He had the child in his arms and handed him up to Din. “Tried to fix the—“ A gust came in all its howling glory and carried away a small sheet of metal, the same that he’d scavenged from the Imperial ship. 

Loran cursed and made off after it. It bounced across the sand and as he moved a great clap of thunder sounded and Din nearly jumped out of his skin. In his arms the child cried in alarm and fear. He held him closer and waited for Loran to return. 

The hunter held the piece of metal up triumphantly, his crooked smile wide on his face as the rain began to pour. The hunter laughed inaudibly as it poured down on him. Din felt himself smiling. 

“I hope to the stars that this gets us out of here.” Loran told him, out of breath but still smiling. He was soaked to the bone, hair slicked down to tickle his shoulders. 

Din nodded, raising the ramp to seal them off from the rain, “Me too.” The child reached out for Loran, only to recoil when he touched his cold and wet clothes. Loran smiled. “I think I have some dry clothes, and we can have a look at that wound.” 

The child sat nervously on his bunk while Din rooted around in the drawer underneath. His eyes darted two and fro when thunder shook the Crest. Din murmured soothing nothings to him. 

When he turned back, Loran had stripped to the torn undershirt and his pants. The bandage on his shoulder peeked out, looking a little dirty and bloody. His shoulders were broader than Din remembered. 

“This… probably isn’t gonna fit, but it’s dry. I’m going to get the kit.” 

Loran nodded and waited patiently for him to climb the ladder and retrieve the medical supplies. The rain splattered the windows of the Crest, and when Din looked out, all he could see was sand and an upset grey sky. He slid back down the ladder. 

Peeling away the bandage, Din found the blaster wound to be almost completely scabbed over. 

“It looks good.” He commented, then ripped open another patch for the rest of the healing. He pressed it onto the skin with bare fingers. 

“Oh, good. It doesn’t hurt none, you don’t have to be that gentle.” 

Din wished he could match Loran’s easy words but only cleared his throat and managed something similar to, “Yes I do.” 

His hands fell away from Loran’s skin and he admired his handiwork for a moment. Loran took off what remained of his shirt and slid on the new one, a dark grey that Din would usually wear under his jumpsuit. It was, as predicted, much too small. Loran stifled a laugh. 

“Thank you.” 

He shrugged, “Sorry it doesn’t fit.” 

“It’s more than enough.” Loran told him, his eyes warm, before changing the direction of their conversation with the utmost confidence. “Din— are you alright? I don’t know the nature of your run-ins with the Imps but…they seem to be rattlin’ you good.” 

The use of his name startled him a little; he wanted to brush the hunter off, wanted to forget about the ordeal, wanted to sleep for a very long time. 

“It’s nothing. The kid’s safe and that’s what matters.” 

Loran bit the inside of his lip, looking away in mild frustration, but Din knew he wouldn’t pursue it. He nodded, looked up to Din, awkwardly patted him on the shoulder, mumbling another thanks, and turned away to busy himself with something. 

Finding what was the last of their rations, Din settled down to feed the child. He was fussy, still upset by the storm and the way it shook the entire ship in its fury. Din hoped a flash flood didn’t carry them away


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season two air date let’s fucking gooooooooooooooo 
> 
> Anyways this is it! Thank you all for sticking with this story, you have been rewarded with an explicit chapter. I plan on writing something with them maybe after season two airs, I’m not sure ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Cw for mentioned familial death & sexual content

The sand was nearly dry when they emerged from their shelter. The Crest, gleaming in the sun, had held up to the storm with minimal damage. Between the two suns and the thirst of the desert, it was if nothing had happened to disturb the landscape. 

“Need help with repairs?” 

Din considered him a moment, then shook his head. “Think I’ve got it.” 

“Sure. Be careful.” 

He watched the hunter walk back to the makeshift campsite outside of the Razor Crest and began to tear it down. Din snapped his attention back to the task at hand. With any luck, this would be the last day spent under those cursed suns. He began to climb to the top of the ship to reach the engine. 

Several hours elbow deep in the port engine, Din finally tucked the wires back where they belonged and soldered the last bit of metal back to its place. He sat back on his heels, triumphant. A few yards away, Loran lounged in the sun with the child and Din raised his hand to him. Loran looked up, squinting against the suns, and held a thumbs up in question. He returned the motion and Loran pumped the air with his fist. 

They met in the belly of the Razor Crest, Din feeling in better spirits than he had in a long time. Loran clapped him on the shoulder smiling easily, commending him on a job well done. Din could nearly sag under the praise. Instead, he nodded, and took himself up into the cockpit to see if his handiwork would hold up. Behind him he heard Loran set the child into his seat, then sit in the free chair, not saying a word. 

What mercy the universe had left was granted on their wayward vessel. The Crest’s engines fired smoothly, and they lifted up without incident. Din’s breath held itself in his throat as they left the atmosphere and it didn’t budge when he pulled the ship into hyperdrive. It was the last test for the ship, and Loran broke the silence with a whoop when the ship slid itself into hyperspace. 

He stood behind Din’s chair, laughed a victorious “Ahh-ha!” And pulled Din’s head into his elbow and kissed the top of his helmet as if it might bring him good luck. 

“You did it! Thank the stars.” 

The child cooed behind them and Loran turned and scooped him into his arms. He lifted the kid as far as he could in the cramped space, smiling broadly, gently spinning them both. Din set their course for the next densely populated planet and spun his chair around, watching the two with exhausted contentment. 

“Can you watch him? I need to lie down.” 

“Of course.” Loran told him, and returned the child to the safety of the crook of his arm. 

He layed in his bunk for a few troubled moments before finally falling asleep. Sleep was heavy and warm as it always was but, as it always was now, interrupted by snatches of the cantina, the fiery rubble, the pain at the base of his skull and the look of horror on Cara’s face when her hands were covered in his blood. This time Moff Gideon’s face was there as well. 

The Imperial officer smiled thinly as Din sat helpless, the child in Gideon’s hands. He knew his son’s death wouldn’t be swift nor painless and Gideon grinned because he would make sure of it. 

Din bolted awake, his body shaking and sweating and his heart pounding. From the floor Loran stirred, child in his arms, safe and sleeping. He looked up to Din with heavy sleep-filled eyes. 

“What’s the matter?” 

Din shook his head and scooted to the edge of his bunk, holding his hands out for the child. Loran rose and handed him off then approached, his hand on Din’s shoulder. 

“The hunters after us… it means Moff Gideon is still alive. He won’t stop until the child is his.” His voice was choked but he set the child down on his bunk, tucking him in with a ratty blanket. Din slid to the floor and sat at the foot of the bunk, top of his helmet in his hands. The fear was creeping on overwhelming. 

Loran, who never seemed to balk at intimacy, sat next to him and pulled Din closer. 

“I know you won’t let that happen.” 

Din stiffened in response to the touch but Loran didn’t give. “There’s a chance I won’t make it and I’ll leave him worse off. Sometimes,” He sighs heavily, “sometimes I think he’d be better off with someone else.” 

The hunter said nothing, but wrapped his arm tighter around Din and he found himself relaxing into the softness of the unarmored body. 

“How do you protect your family?” Din whispered. 

There was a long pause. The gentle drone of the engines became deafening. When Loran spoke it matched the whisper. 

“Din… they’re dead. Before the city fell dark the Imperials came and I—I couldn’t.” 

The feeling that passed through him was akin to a plunge in icy water. It hurt like hell. Brought its chill to his heart. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I’ve lived with this a long while. It won’t happen to your boy. He can protect himself, I saw it. I was too afraid to let my family see the blood and ruin of our world and they suffered in the end.” 

“You did what you thought was best.” 

Loran nodded, holding him close as the ghosts of long dead emotions stirred in his voice. 

“I been telling myself that for a long time. I do like hearin’ you say it, though.” 

Despite it all Din felt himself blush. Loran’s free hand, the one not tucked around his shoulders, grabbed Din’s and squeezed it appreciatively. Din took it and clasped it between his gloved hands. 

“Stay here a moment.” Din told him and Loran obliged. He rested his head on Loran’s shoulder and he listened as the hunter’s breathing slowed itself to sleep. Instead of thinking himself to death, Din closed his eyes to sleep as well.

They didn’t speak when they woke. Not that Din often  
talked. But there were words that hung heavy and unspoken and it was too late for the Crest was en route to land. 

The child fussed all the way down. He refused rations, clearly sick of the bland food, and instead sucked on the necklace from Din’s clan. He watched Loran with dark eyes, some strange intelligence emanating from them. It made the hunter uncomfortable to know the power that they held, but it reassured him all the same. 

Din docked the ship in a bustling port connected to a growing city. Beyond the buildings, Loran saw the edges of a forest, rapidly being eaten away by civilization. Still, he enjoyed the cool breeze and the full sun, just warm enough to feel on his skin as it began it’s gentle descent. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” 

“You’re not leaving?” 

Din shook his head, “I’m getting the ship properly repaired. It’ll be overnight.” 

“Don’t see why not.” He scratched the back of his neck and smiled. 

The child in Din’s arms whined. 

“Why don’t you pick?” Loran told him. 

Din nodded and set off into the deeper city. The taller buildings, several stories high, cast cool shadows over the dirt streets. The buildings were nothing like Loran’s planet. They were silent and dignified, yes, but the lack of life wasn’t from death. It was because life had just started to grow. 

He led them into a cantina they came upon that’d seen better days and sat down at a corner table. The inside was mostly furnished with repurposed crates and discarded wood constructed unto furniture. Old fishing nets hung from a ceiling. A server stumbled over and Loran requested food for himself and the child, and something boxed for later. Din felt self-conscious but thanked him, in the end. The food, from what he could tell, at least looked good. 

They ate in relative silence, Loran inhaling whatever it was the server ended up bringing him, and Din coaxing the child to take a few bites here and there. He mostly relented, taking a handful of food into his mouth to make his father happy. 

“What’ll you do now?” 

He looked up at Loran who just stared back. He seemed tired. 

“Set out in the morning. I have to track down Gideon before he finds us. Think I can see some old friends of mine.” 

Loran nodded, looking distant.

“You’ll like it here.” Din assured him. 

“Too lively. Makes me feel like a walking corpse.” 

Din sighed in amusement and stood. 

“I’ll be back.” He muttered then made his way to the server to argue about room prices. There wasn’t much to be said except that they should pay now, or risk losing their rooms at sunset when the last of the seasonal workers decided to turn it after their drink. 

The server accepted his credits with glazed and bored eyes and turned over two room keys. When he returned to the table, Loran was holding the child on his lap, folding a napkin into a hat. The child kept reaching out to unfold the paper with his claws and eventually, Loran just let him. 

“He’s stubborn.” The hunter told him. 

“Didn’t get that from me.” 

Loran’s mouth tugged into a smile. “He sure as shit did.” 

Din set a key on the table for Loran to take. Out of the grimy cantina windows the sun was setting quickly. Loran pushed a box of food towards him and accepted the key. 

“Thank you. How much was the room?” 

Din shook his head. “Just take it.” 

A beat as Loran tapped on the table in hesitation. “Gonna have to make it up to you one day.” 

“Maybe. Don’t feel obligated.” 

The child stretched in Loran’s lap and let out a whine. He held his short arms out for his father and Loran handed him over. 

“I’m gonna put him down. I’d like to say goodbye tonight, if you’re still here.” 

Loran nodded once and Din left him sitting at the table, looking down at the key in his large and calloused hands. 

The room was small, metal walls washed with thin blue paint that peeled. Din removed his helmet and sat it on the bed. The child lifted his claws to scratch at the stubble on his chin and his small green mouth smiled in that pleased manner that only children can smile. 

Din sat in the only chair in the room and placed the child in his lap. He held the boxed food, some kind of fish, up close to his chin above the child’s head to eat, and quickly, so he could rock him to sleep before night fell. He pulled off his cape to swaddle the kid, and his pauldrons so that his shoulders might be softer. 

There was a lull as Din fell into sleep with the child, gently rocking him with the heels of his boots on the rickety chair. 

He jolted awake from a falling sensation deep in his brain, one that reminded him of empty space and the shock of cold wind on his bare face. The kid didn’t stir when he laid him on the single bed, gently tucking a blanket up around his chin. Sleep melted fully away from his thoughts and left him cold and painful conscious. 

The refresher was grey and cheerless, an orange light illuminated his bare skin as he showered himself down, feeling relieved to get that desert grime and sweat off his body. 

Sometime later he locked the door behind him and pocketed the old and worn key. Across the small hallway was the room that Loran stayed in, if he hadn’t already run off in Din’s absence. He wasn’t sure how good his chances were. He knocked. 

The door opened a crack and a sliver of Loran’s worn face was visible, scrutiny in the pull of his brow. 

Din cleared his throat. “I finally put the kid down. Just wanted to talk for a bit.” 

The door swung open and Din stepped inside after the invitation. 

Loran wasn’t wearing shoes or his armor and Din felt a strangled sense of fondness rear its head in his already-occupied chest.

He ended up replying with another subject. Loran leaned up against the door frame and watched him. “Are you going to be okay out here? I can drop you somewhere else—“ 

“Don’t.” Loran held up a broad hand, “You’ve done enough. I think a change of pace will be good for me.” 

Din nodded, leaning against the door himself. The shirt he lent Loran had holes worn threadbare around the collar. He reached a hand out and touched it with his fingertips. 

“This has a hole in it.” 

“You can take it off if it bothers you.” 

He felt blood rush painfully to his ears, “That’s not, ahem, not what…” But his fingers dropped to the hem of Loran’s shirt anyways. Loran took his hands and curled them gently around the fabric and Din managed a, “But I suppose I don’t mind.” 

Loran stepped closer, and if Din’s helmet would’ve been removed, he would be able to feel the hunter’s breath on his ear. 

“You know, I would’ve kissed you by now if that bucket weren’t on your head.” Loran told him, and instead of replying, Din bowed his head, set his hand in the hunter’s hair, and pressed their foreheads together. 

“This is all I can do.” Din whispered, and he couldn’t see the hunter’s reaction and his heart clenched in nervous anticipation. He hoped it was enough. 

Loran pulled away, a gentle smirk on his face, “I can close my eyes if you’d like. But only if.” 

Wordlessly, Din pulled a glove off, then the other, finger by finger, and set them down. He reached back out to Loran and ran his hand under his shirt and Loran grabbed him by the unarmored shoulders and pressed him against the wall. 

“Talk to me,” Loran whispered, “Tell me what you need.” 

Predictably, Din found his voice wouldn’t sound and instead he pulled the hem of Loran’s shirt over his head. 

Loran discarded the shirt onto the floor and let Din pull his hands onto his thighs. 

He cleared his throat and could speak up; “I liked you in that.” 

“I noticed.” As they spoke, Loran rutted up against him, hands working their way up Din’s thighs. Loran slotted their legs together and pinned him flat to the wall with a knee. 

Din pressed his bare hands to Loran’s skin, his stomach, then wrapping around to his back. The hunter’s teeth were a couple layers of fabric away from Din’s neck, but he buried his nose in his cowl as he ground up against Din. 

Loran muttered something against the cloth, and Din pulled a hand off Loran to tug the cowl away. 

He swallowed, head tilted up so that Loran might reach his skin better.

“You’re so tense. How long’s it been since anyone’s touched you?” 

“Never like this.” 

Loran pulled away, his face drawn up. He looked self-conscious, “No one?” 

Cursing himself, Din clarified, “Not what I meant. I mean... by someone who means something to me.” 

Relief flooded him when Loran’s face softened and he smiled, “Don’t I feel special. Gonna have to treat you right.” 

A warm, embarrassed feeling rose in his chest and pushed against the back of his throat. He felt the burning sensation of desire follow with it, down in his belly and reaching out to the tips of his fingers. Din then did something stupid. 

He reached out along the doorframe, sliding his bare fingers along the metal until he found the panel controlling the lights. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Don’t worry.” Din told him, and pressed the lights off. 

Nothing was visible in his visor and the afterimage of Loran faded quickly. The hunter was silent, still pressed into Din from the waist down. He didn’t want the contact to break. The helmet hissed when he took it off, and it made a loud sound when he dropped it onto the wooden floor. 

His hands found Loran’s still on his thighs, and he pulled them up so that they might touch his checks. 

Loran exhaled, now the one sounding unsure of himself. “I— can I?” 

“Please.” 

Loran wasted no time cupping his face, large hands gentle now, thumbs tracing below his eyes with such care Din might cry. He felt like a valued thing under Loran’s touch. 

“You don’t have the ears,” the hunter teased, “You’re probably not green.” 

Din snorted in amusement, “No… How come you never asked?” 

“If you were human? Suppose it doesn’t matter to me. Didn’t expect to actually find out.” His hands stopped their travels on his face, settling back on the sides of his cheeks. “Are we done talking?” 

“Stars, yes.” 

Perhaps it really had been too long, but Loran was an excellent kisser. Practiced and rhythmic but with enough enthusiasm to keep it interesting. He wrapped his hands around Loran’s middle, and in turn Loran clasped his hands under Din’s ass and lifted him against the wall with ease. 

Their kiss progressed slowly into a deeper one, Loran letting him determine when to move on. For all that he was willing to give, he made sure Din could receive it. 

Din pulled away first, breathing hard, lips swelling. “Let’s move to the bed.” 

Loran shrugged him up so that he could carry him properly, and moved through the dark until his shins connected with the single bed. If the one in Din’s room was anything to go by, it was probably too short for Loran. 

He dropped Din onto the mattress and climbed on top of him, kissing his mouth, along his nose, his eyelashes, anywhere he could reach. 

“You’re beautiful.” He muttered against Din’s cheek, his hand lifting to run itself through his shaggy hair. Din didn’t want to break their kiss again, and in response felt down Loran’s abdomen to grab him through his pants. The hunter gasped into his mouth and pulled away. Din started to protest but teeth came down on his neck, just below his jaw, and Din felt himself become painfully hard under the hunter’s touch. 

Loran settled down to straddle him more fully. “How much can we take off?” 

“As much as you’d like, so long as you help me.” 

“Now that’s a deal if I ever heard one.” 

Loran retrieved the vambrace Din had set on the bedside table, and with the Mandalorian’s careful instruction, took the remainder of his armor off his suit and placed it next to the bed. 

He was left just in his suit, the cloth feeling oddly flexible, himself feeling oddly vulnerable and he found for once the sensation didn’t make his skin crawl. Loran pushed him gently back down on the bed and peeled off his clothing, kissing each bit of exposed skin as it bared itself to the cool night air. He was kept plenty warm by the way Loran moved against him, which brought a sound to his mouth that he should’ve been embarrassed by. 

Din finally worked up the nerve to reach down to Loran’s belt and unbuckle it, pull it loose, and tug down his pants. Loran complied and kicked them off, along with his underwear, and Din might not have been able to see, but he could picture him fully. And he could feel Loran’s heavy cock in his hand, hard now. 

Quickly, Din undid his own pants and pulled them down. He couldn’t get the off around his boots, which he’d forgotten about, but Loran’s patient hands slid them off, followed by his pants. 

Loran purred in his ear, biting down his neck, told him things that Din couldn’t even tell himself. His lifestyle never brought on the most enthusiastic of people, but it seemed that Loran was the exception. Din heard the hunter rustle around in the bedside table for a moment, then set his warm hands back on the sides of his stomach, muttering something about lube and the tearing sound of plastic. He leaned down to press a kiss into his lips, then was back in his ear. 

“Had plans on picking up a handsome fisherman.” He told Din, “Having a few drinks and coming back here… Fucking him and pretending he was you.” There was pressure on his dick as Loran ground down on him again, this time with nothing between them to soften the feeling. 

Din let out a stifled moan and Loran kissed the side of his neck, biting at the bruises that were forming in the dark. He inhaled through his teeth when Loran pushed a slick finger into him. The hunter whispered more filthy things in his ear but Din was lost in the feeling of Loran’s hands. 

“Wish I could see you.” Loran murmured, caressing the inside of his thigh, slow enough to make Din grind his teeth. His stomach burned with the need he felt in his chest, and he stopped breathing when Loran wrapped a hand around his dick, his hands exploring the body Din could only offer him in the dark. “Are you okay with this?” 

“Yes.” A beat passed and a much more desperate sound came from his mouth, “Please.” 

He pulled his fingers away and left Din feeling empty and vulnerable. Then Loran fucked him with the care Din couldn't have expected, hand between them fondling him, the other clasping Din’s on the bedsheet. He made strangled noises, afraid of volume, of exposure, of the vulnerability that he so easily offered Loran. But he got a headrush every time he met the eyes of the hunter through his visor and this was almost too much to bear. Loran whispered affirmations in his ear and settled into a rhythm, each movement sending a noise up into Din’s mouth that he bit back with difficulty. His feet were crossed behind Loran’s back and he pulled him closer so that he might get fucked deeper. 

“How are you doing?” 

“Keep going,” Din replied, “Faster.” He gripped Loran’s hand tighter as he thrusted again and sent a wave of pleasure through Din that settled behind his eyes. Loran kissed his open mouth sloppily and growled with the effort it took to move against him. 

“You’re like a fucking gift,” Loran told him quietly, “All wrapped up in that armor.” 

He whined in response, a sound like an unoiled door hinge, free hand digging scratches into Loran’s back as the man’s hand worked around his cock. His toes curled and he groaned deep in his chest when he climaxed, stars appearing behind tightly closed eyes. Loran’s hands left him to feel his face as it happened but he barely registered it. 

“Never had much of an imagination… But you got a pretty mouth. Might have to put that to use one day.” He panted, hands now leaving to pull away. 

Din grabbed his wrist in the dark and pulled it close, “No, no, finish.” He couldn’t hear it but he sensed the surprise from Loran. 

There was no complaint from the hunter as he moved again and Din bit his lip to keep from crying out. Loran reached up and pushed his hand through Din’s hair and held tightly on as he followed the orgasm with his own. 

Loran finally pulled out of him, panting harder, and collapsed slightly to his left, still managing to crush much of Din. He trailed his mouth up Din’s neck and kissed under his jaw. Din turned his head over to kiss him back. 

“Sorry.” Loran muttered, pulling away after a moment, “Don’t know when I’ll get to do this again.” 

He lifted a hand and stroked the side of Din’s face with the back of his hand, just the ghost of the sensation. Din swore he could see the whites of his eyes. 

“We should do it again.” 

In the dark he could hear Loran’s smile. 

“Think I’d like that. Very much.” 

He couldn’t stay, though, and crept away once Loran had fallen asleep. In the morning, the hunter’s room was empty. He returned to the Razor Crest, just himself and the child, and he watched the port behind the controls until he realized he was stalling. 

There would be other days for them.


End file.
